Inadvertent Petty.

So, there are many reasons (separate post forthcoming) why I am still friends with my infamous ex on social media — despite the (beyond) foul shit he put me through. [ An aside: my ex is a pretty private person, and doesn’t share his business on these interwebs, which means I really don’t run a serious risk stumbling across some shit that’ll hurt my feelings. Unless I go fishing and deep sea diving — stalking, that is; but that ship has sailed. Anyway. ] It’s been almost four years since we broke up, which means it’s been almost four years since I’ve seen him. But yo, I still love this man.

That said, being connected to him on social media makes me feel a semblance of closeness to him — even though we’re thousands of miles apart.

You’d think that the four years we’ve been apart would be time enough to get over the shit he put me through. And, to a certain extent it did. However, since his messy ass behavior resulted in a child, this will never truly be over. And that’s okay; I’ve made my peace with it. Hell, I hope to meet the little guy one day. But, I digress.

But, social media. And, inadvertent petty.

As I was browsing my Facebook feed, I came across this post that my ex shared (he didn’t create the post, it’s just shared from something he liked on Instagram):

Ok. So this. I know I sound like a bitter bitch, but fuck all of this right here. As it relates to my ex’s current situation, that is. My ex has children from previous (legitimate) relationships, who are grown/nearly grown. In that context, the sentiments of this meme are beautiful. I dig it.


As I reflect upon his situation, as the father of a four year old who was conceived from a meaningless hook-up (with a basic ass Becky who fetishizes Black dick), that destroyed me, fuck this. Should the way his son was conceived have any bearing on his love for him? Of course not. I am not suggesting that.

But, the messy, bitter, self-centered bitch in me is wondering how in the fuck he could read this meme and reflect on the privilege and gift of fatherhood that resulted in the destruction of another person (um, me).

CryingFolks, yes. I realize how utterly messy, bitter, dumb, stupid, selfish, self-centered, evil, misguided, heartless, etc., this sounds. However, I read this and couldn’t help but log off social media feeling some kind of way.

His stat has absolutely nothing to do with me. Shit, he has no allegiance to me anymore. That said, I am deeming it inadvertently petty (Which is crazy, because he is the least petty person I know. Messy? Yes. Petty, nah). But, the petty in me, recognizes how petty some shit like this has the potential to be.

This all says several things to me:

  1. I am not as “over” this situation as I thought I was;
  2. I am messy as fuck;
  3. I am petty as fuck;
  4. I need to get over myself.

I. I. I. I. Me. Me. Me. Me. Sounds about right. Anyway.

I don’t think my ex reads this blog, so this is in no way a subliminal or passive aggressive dig at him. The rational me knows that my thoughts and feelings about this are dumb and irrational.

I don’t want my ex to have residual feelings of regret when he looks at his son. I really don’t. The little guy didn’t ask to be here.

Olivia Pope cryingThat said, my heart aches, and it pains me to think that my ex is able to exist in a reality where regret for his decisions, and how they completely destroyed me (I mean that literally), have waned.


Time to go meditate with my selenite wand. My chakras are all the way fucked up.

Hurt Bae.

Yo. The now viral #hurtbae video hit me hard. It really made me feel some kind of way. Not necessarily because of this fiasco, because before he really fucked up, he was a good dude. And I was grown. I had life experience. Or maybe I didn’t see the signs. But whatever. I digress.

It made me feel some kind of way because of this fiasco. My first real relationship (love) with a dude who was a jerk. Who cheated more times than I’d like to admit (because frankly, we can deny it all we want, but we know what’s up — but, like the Doobie Brothers sang, What a fool believes, he sees; no wise man has the power to reason away). Who lied countless times. Who carelessly left used condoms in (semi) plain view. Who made me feel like shit. Who I was a fool for. Who really didn’t need to be in a relationship.

I blamed myself for so long. It took a long time for me to realize that I am dope. I’m a catch. And yo; it was his fucking fault.

But this video, though. The hurt in this woman’s eyes. Her body language. Her tears. She seems so defeated. It hurts to watch.

Earlier today, a friend posted the following Facebook status. It hits the nail on the fucking head.


Fuck these trash ass dudes. Seriously. Though this shit happened to me damn near twenty years ago, the hurt in this young woman’s eyes is palpable to me. It’s visceral.

“The truly scary thing about undiscovered lies is that they have a greater capacity to diminish us than exposed ones. They erode our strength, our self-esteem, our very foundation.”
– Cheryl Hughes

Love Lost.

Fuck love On Valentine’s Day of 2013, my then boyfriend gave me a beautiful gold heart necklace as a gift. Little did I know, a few weeks later, he would travel thousands of miles away to be present for the birth of his son that I knew nothing about.

Months later when I found out about it, I left the necklace on the table when I moved out of our apartment. If my memory serves me right, I left a note alongside it that said “fuck it”. He never returned to collect his belongings (he had a friend do it, must’ve been nice — to have your belongings sent for & shit). I wonder what became of the necklace. Fuck that necklace.

Fuck love.

Staying Gold — Third Time’s the Charm.

Stevie Wonder’s song Stay Gold always makes me happy. In the song, he sings about reflecting on a place and time when we were young, and life was care free — while remembering that nothing lasts forever. But more importantly, he reminds us that we must always stay gold. Staying gold; or, being optimistic — staying encouraged — being buoyant — is tough.

Especially with a heart that’s been battered and abused more than once. And you’re left with the scars.

Song: “Stay Gold” by Stevie Wonder | Film: “The Outsiders” (dir. Francis Ford Coppola) © 1983

That said, I read a thought provoking article the other day, suggesting that we only fall in love with three people in our lifetimes — each for a specific reason. As you know (if you read my blog), love (and even things love-like) have been kind of disastrous for me. But suspending my belief, for a few moments, about love’s curse on me, I challenged myself to be open. The article paints an eerily accurate description of my love experiences, but leaves me hopeful.

More specifically, though, coming across this piece was ironic — considering I just 1spent the past week waxing poetic down memory lane about the two major loves that I’ve had in my life. So, according to this article, I’m due for the real thing this time. The love that will make the previous two disasters look like child’s play. And will be easy.  The one that will make it apparent why the other ones didn’t work out. Will the third time be the charm?

Before I start pining away and waiting patiently for the love that, according to Kate Rose, will come “so easy it doesn’t seem possible”, I should really reflect on what my other two loves have taught me, and how they prepared me for what I only hope will be real.

My first love. According to Rose, “This is the love that appeals to what we should be doing for society’s sake…We enter into it with the belief that this will be our only love and it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t feel quite right, or if we find ourselves having to swallow down our personal truths to make it work because deep down we believe that this is what love is supposed to be.

Damn. She hit the nail on the head with this characterization. My first love was a guy who I was with for nearly 10 years — just because. There were major problems in our relationship (which began when I was only 17), which really should’ve ended it long before it blew up. But we were together for “so long” and our families liked each other and he bought be cute presents and, and, and…

Nevermind the fact that he body-shamed the hell out of me (I gained some weight, he dumped me for a while, and I starved myself to lose it), cheated on me, and did other creepy things that are just too weird to discuss in this post. But yeah, it ran its course.

If I have to reflect on what it taught me, and why this love entered into my life, I’d argue that it showed me what I didn’t want. I don’t want to discount all of the wonderful times I had with this man (he was my first…yeah, that first), and we experienced a lot together. But, even the sum of our experiences leaves me in an icky place, and when I made peace with how that relationship ended, I vowed that I deserved better.

I made peace with my body (despite his judgment), I learned how to live with a man, and did the domestic thing for a bit. Actually, as I think about it, I made an entire Thanksgiving dinner for our families the year that we lived together. So yeah. Love number one lessons = self-acceptance, the qualities not to accept in a man, men who spend their lives in the gym probably won’t appreciate a chubby girl, and time doesn’t mean much once the love has run its course.

Love number two. Damn, that still hurts. According to Rose, “The second is supposed to be our hard love—the one that teaches us lessons about who we are and how we often want or need to be loved. This is the kind of love that hurts, whether through lies, pain or manipulation.”

Man. As much as I am still hurt by how that relationship ended, I learned so much about myself from him. He motivated me to be my best. He challenged me in many ways (which made me a better partner and woman to live with). He accepted my flaws. He knew the kind of love that I needed — an attentive, protective, and fierce love. And it was lovely. But, oh the eventual lies and hurt.

Rose describes the second love as one filled with highs, lows, dramas, etc.; this roller coaster analogy sums up a lot of what I experienced with this person — both good and bad. Mainly good (until it got bad).

Rose cautions, “With this kind of love, trying to make it work becomes more important than whether it actually should. It’s the love that we wished was right.” This sentiment speaks to my need and want to maintain a friendship with this person who hurt me so very deeply. Damn, I wish it didn’t have to end like it did. I digress.

But oh, this elusive third love. Rose beautifully posits:

“This is the love where we come together with someone and it just fits—there aren’t any ideal 1expectations about how each person should be acting, nor is there pressure to become someone other than we are…It isn’t what we envisioned our love would look like, nor does it abide by the rules that we had hoped to play it safe by. But still it shatters our preconceived notions and shows us that love doesn’t have to be how we thought in order to be true.”

This description completely challenges my ideas and expectations about a future partner. Primarily because there probably shouldn’t be expectations. The idea of not playing it safe is particularly intriguing to me in that as a Taurus, stability and safety are innate to me. That said, I may need to consider stretching my idea of what I believe my love will look like — act like — be like.

But being honest, I am still not ready to love again. I resist it, in fact. My musical chairs of questionable situations with men since my last love has shown me that I am not ready for anything real yet. For a long time, I shunned the idea of loving again — I was that hurt. But like Stevie says, I’ve got to stay gold.

Rose writes something about those who’ve loved and lost that leaves me very hopeful, “But I kinda think that those who make it to their third love are really the lucky ones…They are the ones who are tired of having to try and whose broken hearts lay beating in front of them wondering if there is just something inherently wrong with how they love…Just because it has never worked out before doesn’t mean that it won’t work out now.”

I’m not looking for love. I’m recovering. But, despite what my experiences have shown me, I am able to be loved, minus all of the drama, lying, nastiness & shame.

Though I’m broken now, I need to stay gold. The third time will be the charm.

No Room for Love.

Why I involve myself with losers (criminals, unavailable men, serial cheaters, jerks — a combination of any of the aforementioned descriptors) boggles my mind.

13There’s this one stand-by friend (we’ll call him “Award”) who I’ve known for almost 18 years; he’s no drama, unattached, attentive, sweet, very attractive, smart, professional. Yeah, all that good stuff.

And guess what?

I blow him off because it irritates me that he brags about his son too much. I mean, how much more shallow and petty can I be? What does that say about me?

Oh, and he does this weird shrugging thing to demonstrate an it is what it is or oh well sentiment in conversation sometimes.

And he smokes plain Black & Mild cigars. Yes, plain.

He’s a bit arrogant, but so am I. 12

So essentially, there’s nothing really wrong with him. He’s perfect, actually — a great catch. No pressure for commitment, either.

So why, again, am I involving myself with losers? If I had to guess, I’d say that losers are easy. If I have made up my mind that there couldn’t possibly be a future, I save myself heartache, or something.

Or, maybe I do like drama. Worse yet, maybe my heart’s been so battered that I don’t think that true love can exist for me.

A travesty if I do say so myself.